


The memories I'll bring to a place far from home

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Gondolin, Nolofinwean feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5574409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turgon, Aredhel and Idril watch the final touches being put to the king's court in new-built Gondolin, and remember what they have left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The memories I'll bring to a place far from home

“The water pressure in the fountain is proving more of a problem than we had first anticipated” Turgon was saying, as he swept through the main square, Aredhel and Idril at his elbows. All around them, the crisp, newly finished stone walls rang with the sounds of the final touches being applied, the calls and chatter of the artisans and the detailers and their apprentices, the chipping of a chisel as a carving was adjusted, the rattle of a wheelbarrow filled with tesserae for the mosaic that covered the arch leading to the tower gate. 

“Ethelë was telling me of it yesterday. It seems that in order to place a fountain at such high altitude - or rather, to place a fountain somewhere where you must pump the water up such a great distance from the rills below, for it’s the difference that’s important - then the pipework needs to be more robust, and more complex than one would think. The last I checked, he was speaking with that Formenosi architect whose name escapes me, you know that dreadful fellow who used to always boast of having worked closely with Fëanáro when we were in Tirion, though he later claimed to have been Father’s man all along.” He let out a rueful chuckle. “At the very least, he seems to have stopped that particular mode of arrogance now.”

Aredhel smiled. “A small mercy for us all.”

“Yes. Apparently he’s talented though, and understands rock and water” said Turgon. “Hopefully the remaining issues will all be smoothed out soon enough, at any rate. The fountain is a necessity, really, a small tribute to the Lord of Waters and his part in all this, not to mention a remembrance…” he paused for a moment, letting out his breath. He turned to his sister and daughter, who had been following him all this while, exchanging a smile of relief every so often to see Turgon so animated once more. “Do you remember the fountain in the palace gardens? Itarillë, your mother and I used to take you there to dip your tiny feet into its bright waters…”

Idril smiled. “I know, Father. I remember!”

Aredhel rolled her eyes. “Turno, you’ve told her that story more times than I can count. I’ve got a better one.”

Turgon narrowed his eyes. “I dread to think.”

She grinned. “The one where Arko and I surprised you and Finno, and pushed you into the water! Remember that summer it was so hot? Mother was furious that we got so wet before our lesson, but it was worth it.”

For just an instant there was a tense, heavy silence, as their mother, and their younger and elder brothers - one now dead, the other estranged - came to Turgon and Aredhel’s minds. Turgon’s face broke into a twisted smile, bright with fondness, a keen joy tempered by the bittersweetness of what was lost.

Then he laughed, and the chill between them dissipated, as quickly as that. “So you did, rascal that you were. Itarillë, don’t ever follow Irissë’s example in your life, you hear me? She was always a terribly uncivilised, inconsiderate creature.”

Aredhel grinned. “So am I not still? Turno, I’m almost insulted.”

“I don’t know why I ever put up with you.”

“There must be a reason” said Aredhel, nudging him with an elbow. “You asked me to come with you after all.”

He turned to her, looking between her and Idril, grasping their forearms unconsciously. Their steps had brought them now to the jewel-bright greensward before Glingal and Belthil, a place that always made him feel a little melancholy, despite its beauty. “Yes.” he said, with a sigh. “Yes, I did.”

The three of them lapsed into silence for a moment, as the activity of the courtyard carried on around them, the city near full-wrought. “I’m glad you’re here with me” said Turgon after a while, nearly too quietly to hear. “Both of you.” There was a hint of a plea in his voice, a slight catch.

“So am I, father” said Idril, leaning her head against his shoulder as they all stood before the Trees, gazing at them together. She took his hand in hers. “So am I.”

“As am I” said Aredhel, springing neatly out of the way as a little handcart rattled past her, pushed by a woman with brilliantly coloured ribbons in her hair “I worry though.”

“Whatever for? Within these walls our people will be the safest - ”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then pray tell me, what did you mean?”

“You, Turukáno. This city… there’s a lot of _you_ in it.” She narrowed her eyes, inclining her head, searching his face. “If you see what I mean.”

He gazed back at her, a slight frown on his face. “No, I can’t say that I do.”

“There's… well…” she hesitated a little more. “Don’t you think you're… you’re placing too much hope in this?”

“I received a message from the Lord of Waters himself…”

“A Vala.” Her mouth twisted. “And we know that we have not the greatest favour of the Valar right now…”

Turgon’s face soured. “Findekáno received aid from Manwë, did he not? And is not my cause more just than the saving of a son of Fëanor?”

“Let’s not argue about that again” said Aredhel hastily. “Not now anyway. But Turno, I know you think you’re saving our people - ”

“I _am_ saving our people.”

“But please, brother…. I know you have hope now, and the One only knows you’ve needed some. You _deserve_ hope, but…”

“What are you driving at?”

“ _Love not too well the work of thy hands and the devices of thy heart_ … remember?”

“Kindly don’t quote Ulmo at me! I remember his words well enough.”

She nodded. “I know.” The pause was thick with words left unsaid.

“ _What?_ ”

“Nothing!”

He frowned. “Irissë…”

“Alright! Alright, fine. I just worry that you see this all as very…” she gestured around the courtyard. “Well, permanent.”

That was not what he had been expecting. “Well, I _know_ it’s not permanent. Ulmo said as much, and I have heeded his words.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”

“Yes.” Turgon pursed his lips. “Irissë, I’m not the naive fool you seem to think me…”

“I never said that - ”

“My head is certainly no longer full of dreams, if it ever was.” He grimaced. “Fëanáro and his sons, and the cursed years on the Ice saw to that. But Irissë, this city… it’s not just walls and streets, homes for our people and fortifications to keep the enemy out. It’s _hope_ , Irissë. Father and Finno think that hope lies in battle lines, in keeping the enemy back day by day, in scrabbling and bleeding and fighting for every scrap of land, for every life lived safe, and… well, there’s much to be said for that.” Pain crossed his face for just a moment, before the light came back to his eyes, even as his voice cracked. “But this…” he gestured around, taking in the beauty of the court, the colours seeming brighter than any of them had seen for so many years, “this is what our people need, Irissë. Hope, and a _home_. And if it’s a little like Tirion of old, well… where is the harm in that? May we not have leave to miss the lives we have left behind?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I have lost so, so much, Irissë. At least let me keep this, for myself, for my daughter…” he squeezed Idril’s hand, still in his, “for our people. And for you, if you truly want to share it with me.”

She hesitated for just a moment more and then she sighed, smiling sadly. “I do want to, Turno. I do.”

He brightened then. “Good. Now, who wants to see the throne room? The stained glass is still being finished, but we should be able to speak to the glaziers before their shift ends, if we hurry. It’s an interesting process, would you like to see?”

Idril and Aredhel exchanged a look as Turgon launched once more into a discussion of glasswork. As the three of them left the courtyard, the day wore on, workers going about their crafts. The sun arced overhead, striking the city like a brilliant glimmer of silver and emerald set into the mountains’ unyielding rock.


End file.
